


The Axis on Which We Turn

by wordplay



Series: AV!Verse [5]
Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-16
Updated: 2011-02-16
Packaged: 2017-10-17 18:56:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/180136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordplay/pseuds/wordplay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Futurefic. Kurt and Blaine go clubbing. Part 3 of the Schadenfreude cycle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Axis on Which We Turn

**Author's Note:**

> Set in the same universe as [Appropriate Visuals](http://community.livejournal.com/kurt_blaine/567799.html) & [Ephemera](http://community.livejournal.com/kurt_blaine/661463.html) \- for anybody keeping track, this is set during the summer of 2014.
> 
> Originally posted [here](http://community.livejournal.com/kurt_blaine/816813.html).

  
From the second they hit Axis, Kurt didn't even give Blaine a minute to get himself all wound up before he was dragging him onto the dance floor. He knew that Blaine tended to be a little uncomfortable in clubs; they'd ventured out with some of Kurt's friends when Blaine had been in the city last fall, and although he made a go of it, he found them unnecessarily loud and more than a little obnoxious. It probably didn't help that Blaine had a possessive streak, and although Kurt had spared him most of the details of what had happened in that long six months they'd spent separated, he'd observed before that Kurt had come back to him with far more fondness for house music than when he'd left.

Blaine had hesitated at the side of the bar until Kurt planted a kiss on the side of his neck and said, "Come on, soldier, time to face it like a man," before he grabbed him by the hand and led him to the dance floor, pushing past a knot of people to find a slightly less crowded spot where they could move together. Blaine was giving him a dry look, but Kurt just rolled his eyes and started dancing, raising his hands over his head immediately and fixing his boyfriend with a look. Blaine rolled his eyes and started moving and _god_ he looked good. He had refused to let Kurt dress him, but had squeezed into his high school jeans (they were seriously doing wonders for his ass, and his _thighs_ , oh my god) and shrugged into a simple dark maroon button-down, and if he didn't look like somebody Kurt would see in a club in Manhattan, that was okay. Kurt, of course, had been happy to dress for the occasion, with low-slung, slim-fitting black pants and a tiny little t-shirt that he knew rode up when he danced - which was, _of course_ , the point.

Blaine didn't seem to mind, anyway - within a minute his hands were reaching out to tug Kurt in closer, to slide his hands around his back and run his fingers over the inch or so of skin left exposed. They'd danced like this before, once or twice, and Blaine was better than Kurt could have ever guessed if he'd only seen him with the Warblers or THUNK!. It made a certain kind of sense - acapella wasn't really about the hips, as he had despaired so many times - but it wasn't like Blaine didn't keep music close to him, didn't drum out rhythms on the dinner table or do a little car-dancing every once in a while

They kept inching together, their legs meshing so they could ride each other's thighs, and as the dancing got a little dirtier, he couldn't help noticing Blaine's eyes darting around the room. "He won't be here, you know - nothing ever works out that perfectly in real life."

Blaine shot him a look. "I'm not looking for him, Kurt. I'm just - people are looking at us."

"Of course they are; we're hot as hell. And this is a college bar, and these people all recognize each other. We're fresh meat." Of _course_ he's noticed that people are looking at them; he'd been busy keeping the bolder ones away with a well-honed bitchface practically from the moment they walked in the door. He had high hopes for tonight, and Blaine's affability and need to make friends everywhere he went would _not_ help.

He'd mentioned the back room to Blaine again back at the Anderson house; they'd been showering and getting dressed before heading out for a late night, and with Blaine's parents out for a late dinner with friends, he'd slipped into the shower and rinsed the soap from his hair but held back on him, whispering into his ear about what it would be like, the way the dim light and the noise would make everything seem possible. Blaine had seemed eager to come right away, intrigued but hesitant until Kurt had whispered in his ear, "Come on, _come play with me_ , baby," and then he had just smiled and kissed him.

He planted a kiss on Blaine's cheek and murmured against the side of his face, "c'mere, turn around, I'll show you what I see," and used the hands on his hips to urge him around. Blaine turned smoothly in his arms and Kurt kept his hands anchored there, moving them together while he rested his cheek against Blaine's. "The blonde, over by the bar, the sad looking one with the red t-shirt. He can tell we're in love, and that's what he's looking for. The older guy, the one in the ridiculous FCUK shirt and baggy jeans, he's reliving his lost youth - one of us must remind him of somebody. And the two who are dancing right next to us," he spoke a little lower, "are waiting for us to separate, so they can swoop in and take their pick. Not going to happen, is it?"

Blaine chuckled, "Not likely, no."

"So, look, nothing to worry about. What happens here isn't about anybody else. It's about what we want," and he could feel Blaine's hum reverberate through his chest, that hum that meant he was skeptical, but thinking about it.

The music transitioned into the spring's newest dance remix of "Don't You Want Me," and Kurt snorted back a laugh and didn't even wait for Blaine to catch on to the underlying track before he was leaning in to whisper, in the exaggerated aggrieved tones of an old joke, "three inches in front of my face" against Blaine's ear. Blaine turned his head toward him and rolled his eyes with a grin, muttering "oh for fuck's sake, come kiss me already, then" and Kurt was more than game, reaching down to meet Blaine's mouth in a ready kiss. He felt Blaine's hands leave his own and come up to hold his head, not clutching but firm, sweet, and his own hands loosened their grip on Blaine's hips and slid up to fold around his chest, high and just under his arms, holding him close in a backwards approximation of a lover's sweet grasp while his hips continued to slip and grind against Blaine's ass.

And then he felt it right in that moment: Blaine going sweet and pliant in his arms, leaning back that extra half-inch, the kiss just a little bit sloppier. He held the kiss for as long as he could, because it was so _sweet_ and he didn't want to break the moment, and then he slid his mouth down a messy path to Blaine's ear. "That's it, baby. It's just me. Close your eyes and feel that, in your chest, in your dick. It's just us right now," and Blaine groaned and let his head fall back against Kurt's shoulder as he left one hand nestled in Kurt's hair and brought his other down to rest over one of Kurt's and slide them together in a path over his chest, down his abdomen, until it rested directly over Blaine's cock.

And just for a second, Kurt felt a fierce stab of pride and joy, because god, back in high school he never could have imagined how glorious this could be, how happy he would be to be so gloriously queer and shamelessly filthy, right in the heart of _fucking Ohio_.

He kept his hand there, cupping Blaine's dick, pressing and rubbing and pinning him between his hips and his hand, while the other roamed his torso and his mouth licked and sucked at his neck, his ear. The music swept into the chorus, and this song had been a joke between them for years now, but with the lower registers cranked up like that so that it shook through his feet, it made him want to push himself against Blaine, slow and lazy and sinuous, rocking his hips to the music at half time, riding the heavy bass away from a ridiculous 80s dance song into the tempo of a good, slow fuck.

When Blaine finally moaned it was low and quiet, and he might have missed it if he hadn't been licking a lazy trail up the side of Blaine's neck, tasting the fresh sweat that was breaking out there. "Mmm, fuck me, Kurt."

Kurt's heart leapt in his throat and his cock jumped in his pants. "Yeah?" because he knew he'd been pushing, been coming on _so strong_ , and if Blaine faltered now it would just be something for another time - the summer stretched before them, and there were plenty of places in Chicago and New York, and --

But Blaine turned his head, and his eyes were dark and liquid in the flashing white and red lights and there was a tease of a smile on his face. "Yeah. Oh yeah, let's go."

"God, I love you," he breathed, and kissed him one more time, releasing his cock with a gentle squeeze and taking his hand.

The room wasn't hard to find - it seemed like it was always in the same place, mirroring the men's room and tucked discreetly away next to an exit. Together they pushed through the curtain and, _god_ , it was everything Kurt had remembered - the smell, the sounds, the very dim red lighting of the Emergency Exit sign. He had just a moment to be glad they were wearing dark colors and try not to think about how filthy it must be before Blaine was shoving him up against a wall and kissing the hell out of him.

And this was what he loved about Blaine, the way he dragged his feet and considered his options, but once he made up his mind, he was _all in_. His hands went to Kurt's waist, undoing the button and zipper there and rubbing Kurt's dick through his briefs and Kurt's head flew up to look around, to take it all in: Blaine pressed against him with his hand down his pants, and couples, triads, groups all around them, pressing and kissing and fucking in the simplest configurations. No beds, no props, just gravity and four walls and beautiful bodies. It was glorious, and it wasn't just for him, so he turned them so that Blaine's back was to the wall.

There was barely enough light for eye contact, and Kurt held his gaze as best he could while he whispered, "I want to suck your cock," and unbuttoned his shirt so he could run his hands over his chest and bend to suck at a nipple. Blaine grunted and reached in for a kiss, dropping his hands to the waistband of his jeans so he could help Kurt pull him out. Kurt peeled his jeans just an inch or so down his hips and tucked his briefs down under his balls and then slowly let himself drop to the floor while his hands and lips slid down Blaine's body. When his knees made contact he spread his legs to give his own dick some room, because _fuck_ Blaine smelled good - clean and sweaty and too glorious to keep his mouth away,so he stooped low and sucked his balls into his mouth, laving and gently sucking while his hand just cradled Blaine's dick up close to his belly.

Blaine's breath came faster and harsher then, and Kurt couldn't wait - he'd wanted to suck him in the shower when he'd seen the last of the suds of Blaine's shampoo clinging to the crisp curls around the top of his dick, but he'd made himself wait then, and enough. He gently held Blaine's balls as he took him as deep as he could right from the start and then refused to set up a rhythm, licking and sucking and sliding his open mouth down the side of his shaft. He worked his way back to the head, tasting, and Blaine's hands slipped into his hair and held his head tight, fucking into his mouth in a way he never did, selfish in his own pleasure. Through the muffle of Blaine's hands over his ears he could hear Blaine's grunts blending into the chorus of the room over the thump of the music, and it was clear he was getting into it, that he was loving fucking into this mouth that he couldn't see, that could have been anyone. Kurt felt used, wanted, dirty, lost to sex and recklessness, and he _loved it_.

Blaine thrust in deep a few more times, Kurt raising his chin and opening his throat before Blaine just squeezed at the sides of his head and dragged him to his feet, pulling him into a kiss and grinding against him as soon as he was upright. Blaine was digging in his underwear, pulling his cock out so that he could hold them and rub them together, Kurt's spit giving them just a little bit of slide, as Blaine whispered in his ear "god, that was hot. Wanna fuck me now?" and Kurt just surged against him, pulling him close and then turning him against the wall. He bent again to pull Blaine's jeans down a little further, just past his knees so that he could spread his legs a little more, then pulled a condom and a small packet of lube from his pocket before shoving his own pants down.

Blaine swore at the cold lube. "You came prepared," his voice unsatisfactorily wry as Kurt hurriedly swiped lube over his ass and down his own cock.

"I wasn't letting you get away due to lack of supplies," Kurt said, nipping at his ear.

"Yeah," Blaine breathed as Kurt slowly pushed into him and god, the soft warmth of him! Kurt pulled his hips farther away from the wall and Blaine shuffled his feet to keep up. He pulled his hips a little more, fully seating him on his dick with one small thrust, and Blaine grunted, just a little, followed by a moan. Kurt leaned forward, pressing his face alongside Blaine's. "Blaine Anderson, getting fucked in public. What _would_ the men of Dalton think?"

"Oh, god, shut up, Kurt," he bit out. "Just" - he grunted, once, low and staccato - "just fuck me."

And god, he could barely see him, but he knew the way his hair curled against his neck, and he knew the way Blaine's shoulders must be flexing when he rested his weight with the top of his head against the wall and brought his arms back to loop them around Kurt's neck. He had to feel his chest like that, the way his abs stretched and flexed to keep his body taut, and as he found the angle and rhythm that pushed Blaine's breath out of his body on every stroke, he reached around to touch, to rub his hands over that warm skin and soft hair and strong muscle.

He was draped all along his back, one arm up around his chest to hold him close and the other down around his cock, slowly pumping in rhythm with the movement of his hips. The noises they were making alongside each other drowned out the rest of the room, and everything was dark, black, and if Kurt had felt gloriously used and disconnected before, now he felt completely enveloped, cocooned in Blaine so that this public act somehow felt intensely private. It wasn't how he'd thought it would feel - he'd thought it would be like before, on his knees - but this was almost better, because there was no mistaking whose body he was holding, the way the coarse hair on Blaine's thighs tickled along his own and the way the rhythm of his hips faltered in his thrusts back as he came closer to the edge. Kurt finally sped up his thrusts and his hand, grunting his orgasm into the dark of the room and clutching Blaine's body to him as he came, and when Blaine followed him over the edge, they swayed against each other and Kurt brought up his arm to brace them so they could sag into the wall.

They leaned there together in the dark, and Blaine whispered, "shit, Kurt," and turned to kiss him.

"Yeah," he panted against his mouth, and the heat was gone, but there was still all this sweetness, and now they were in a room with all of these men fucking each other and somehow the obscenity had turned from edged and attractive to a little bit seedy. Testosterone, he figured, but either way - time to get out of there.

"Hold on," he whispered, and he gently pulled out with a last kiss against the back of Blaine's neck, then he pulled off the condom, hitched up his pants most of the way, and went to the paper towel dispenser against the wall. They felt rough against his skin, still sensitive and tingling, but they handled all but some lingering stickiness on Blaine's belly and their hands

As they pushed back through the curtain, they realized that they'd cut off somebody who was trying to come in, and Blaine's reflexive good manners prompted an, "oh, excuse us, sorry."

"Blaine? And oh, hey, it's Kurt."

Kurt blinked against the lights of the club - the flashing after the darkness was doing a serious number on his vision - but it didn't really matter. That could really only be one person, and just as his eyes regained focus he heard Blaine say, "Oh, hi, Jeremiah - nice to see you. You look well." God, so fucking _polite_ all the time.

"Mmmm, you look well-fucked," and oh my god, _no he did not_ , but Blaine just laughed and wrapped a possessive arm around Kurt and said, "Well, you know how it is," and by the time Kurt could take his eyes off this version of Blaine who was happy to talk about the way leftover come was sticking his shirt to his abdomen, Jeremiah was smirking at them both, his arm looped around a pale, blue-eyed brunette who was eyeing them with annoyance at the delay.

"Right," Jeremiah said. "I'm a little busy, but maybe I'll see you back out there later?"

"Yeah, maybe. Either way - good to see you. Have a good night," and then Jeremiah's boy was done waiting and was tugging him through the curtain.

Blaine took Kurt's hand and walked away.

"So. You enjoyed that - don't deny it."

And Blaine's eyes just sparkled at him while he hummed, low in his chest. "Tell me more about how perfect real life can't be."

And Kurt rolled his eyes while his boyfriend laughed at him and dragged him back to the dance floor.


End file.
